


The Cat's Knees

by Linguini



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Cats, Douglas is apparently one big soft spot, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Martin knows all of Douglas's soft spots, Unwed Pregnancy, of the Feline Persuasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/pseuds/Linguini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin brings home a cat.  Douglas is not best pleased.  Until he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When he walks into the kitchen, Douglas is momentarily nonplussed. There, amongst his pristine bowls and cutting boards is a wet ball of…orange. Orange _fur_. With whiskers, four paws, and a tail guaranteed to make a mess of anything it touches.

“Martin!” he bellows into the house. “What in heaven’s name is this..this… _animal_ doing in my kitchen?!”

Martin comes skidding in, rescuing the small kitten from where Douglas has grabbed it off the worktop. “Douglas,” he chides. “You’ll scare him!”

“If it means it stays out of my kitchen and I don’t have to pick fur out of my food, so much the better.”

Martin glares at him half-heartedly and takes the little furball out into the sitting room, Douglas in trail.

“Where did it come from, anyway?”

A quick, mischievous grin. “Oh, Douglas. Didn’t your mother ever tell you? When a mummy kitty and a daddy kitty love each other very much, they do a special kind of hugging....hey!”

Douglas has grabbed Martin’s collar, turning him so they’re face-to-face. Or, given Martin’s vertically-challenged stature, face-to-chest. “You’re lucky,” he says, as he takes Martin’s face in his hands, “that I find you so irresistible when you’re being snarky. Or rescuing things. Or at any time at all, really,” and then kisses him soundly. “But that... _cat_ is your responsibility. If I catch it in our bed, you’re sleeping on the sofa.”

Martin grins at him. “You big old softy,” he teases. “You’ll love him. I’m sure


	2. Chapter 2

Several weeks later, Martin is called out on a delivery that will take a full three days to accomplish--it’s far enough away it’ll take a day just to get there, leaving Douglas alone with “T.C.” as he’s taken to calling their feline visitor. Short for “The Cat.” 

The cat spends the first day pacing between Martin’s favorite armchair, their bedroom, and the front door, as if he’s looking for someone. _Projecting much?_ Douglas scoffs at himself. _Stop foisting your missing Martin on a dumb animal._

The second day, T.C. curls up in Martin’s chair and doesn’t move a whisker, even when the tin opener for his dinner starts whirring. Douglas feels the tiniest spike of worry in spite of himself, but quickly squashes it.

It’s on the third day of its starvation campaign that Douglas begins to feel sorry for it. He misses Martin, too, although he’s not quite so obvious about it as the cat is (he thinks). He wanders over to the armchair, picking up the cat gently and settling in to wait for their housemate to come home. Douglas doesn’t sleep well without a partner by his side, and his last couple of nights have been particularly difficult. Before he knows it, he’s dozing off, furball squeezed between his thigh and the arm of the chair.

When Martin comes through the door, it’s to the sight of T.C. curled up in Douglas’s lap, nearly engulfed by one of his broad hands. He smiles and leans over to kiss Douglas’s cheek. The older man snuffles awake, looking a bit sheepish to have been caught dozing.

“Hullo, Martin. Good trip?”

Martin smiles at him softly, cupping his head and rubbing his thumb behind Douglas’s ear. Douglas gives an involuntary shudder at the action, just as Martin knew he would. He then does the same to the cat who shudders in turn. Douglas is too smart not to pick up on the silent teasing.

“Seems you have more in common with our cat than just a fondness for warm spots.”

“ _Your_ cat,” Douglas corrects. “Not a bit of that cat is mine.”

Martin grins at him. “Except for the sushi. I’ve never seen a cat eat that before.”

Douglas harumphs. “Alright, then. That and a certain fondness for obnoxious pilots. But that’s all.”

“Yes, Douglas,” Martin says. “Icarus likes you just as much as you like yourself.” And then he sticks out his tongue in the most childish gesture Douglas has ever seen him make.

“I said ‘obnoxious,’ you...” Douglas starts, but doesn’t get much further as he’s interrupted by a flash of ginger fur wrapping itself around Martin’s shoulders. He starts to laugh so hard at being preempted by the cat that he nearly falls out of his chair. Martin looks a bit grumpy, but it’s not long before he’s laughing along with Douglas.

Later that night as Martin is doing the washing-up, Douglas is in the sitting room, queueing up the DVD player to finish watching “Double Indemnity” from the night before. As he goes to sit down, he hears a sharp mewl and sees a flash of orange bolt under the table.

“You coward,” he calls. “Scared of a little pressure.”

Martin walks into the room at just that moment, laughing. “More than just a little pressure, I think.”

Douglas mock-glares at him, then pulls him onto the sofa. He knows Martin will be exhausted from his job, but will resist falling asleep until the last possible minute, and Douglas intends to make his resistance futile. A few well-placed pets and a warm throw should do the job nicely.

As the movie plays on, the cat begins to crawl cautiously out from under the table. Douglas pretends not to notice, but he tracks its progress all the same. Martin has already fallen asleep and doesn’t stir when it reaches the sofa, pulling itself onto the cushions to curl up in the small of Martin’s back.

Douglas grumbles a bit, but lets the invasion pass. As long as it stays on its side of Martin, he’s willing to share the space. He gently wakes Martin up when the movie ends, shepherding him to bed with practiced nudging and prodding. Once in bed, Martin snuggles up to Douglas’s chest, already more than half asleep.

Douglas strokes his hand down Martin’s back a few times, feeling himself relax in the heat of the room. A thought occurs to him just before they fall asleep, and he jiggles Martin gently. “I just want you know,” he says once his eyes blink open, “that the cat’s actual name is Daedalus. There’s only room enough for one Icarus in this house, and that ball of fur is certainly not the bravest pilot around.”

Martin snuffles sleepily and nuzzles Douglas’s chest. “B’nice,” he says. “He’s brave ‘nough.”

Douglas smiles as he sees the cat start to scale the duvet from the floor. “Perhaps he is.”


	3. Chapter 3

"Douglas," Martin calls from the kitchen as the kettle switches off. "I'm making tea. Would you like some?"

The creaking of the house is his only answer. Shaking his head fondly, Martin prepares two mugs, his with milk and no sugar as usual, but adds an extra bit of sugar to Douglas's. It's been three days since Douglas came down with the most awful virus Martin's ever seen him have and he's only just now starting to keep liquids down.

As he walks into the sitting room, balancing the mugs and a plate of toast, Martin smiles fondly as he sees the reason for Douglas's uncharacteristic silence. The older man is stretched out fully on the sofa, a little ball of orange fur tucked between where his hands are folded over his stomach and his chin, rising and falling with each of Douglas's small snores. Martin sets the toast and Douglas's mug on the table, kneeling beside the sofa and prodding gently at his shoulder.

"Douglas?' he asks quietly. "Are you awake?"

The skin beneath his palm is still worryingly warm. Martin pokes a bit more insistently. The orange ball of fur slowly uncurls as Daedalus wakes up and stretches, looking at Martin balefully. The cat meanders down Douglas's chest, pushing and kneading with his paws as he goes, until he's nestled between his knees and the back cushions. With one final glare, he curls up again, purring contentedly.

Just as he gets settled, Douglas half-shouts and bolts upright, startling Daedalus, who rushes under the table and cowers. Martin frowns. Douglas has the most terrible dreams any time he has a fever, which seem to be coming with more frequency lately. He knows that between the medication for his liver, the cold weather, and the more frequent trips they’ve been taking, Douglas's immune system must be taking a beating. It's seemed he’s barely had time to get over one illness before he’s struck down again. Luckily, it's been mostly colds, but there have been a couple more serious incidents that leave Douglas exhausted and Martin worried.

Douglas doesn't wake up fully, but he's sat up enough to let Martin slip behind him so that when he lies down again his head lands in Martin's lap. Martin lets the mug warm one hand while the other cards gently through Douglas’s hair. When the warmth of the ceramic becomes too much, he switches, using his hot hand as a warm compress across Douglas's forehead.

Douglas shifts a bit, scrunching his eyes closed and pressing his forehead into Martin's stomach. Martin plays gently with the soft curls around Douglas’s ear. He knows the older man is awake, but isn’t in the mood to talk. Instead, he fills the silence with distracting conversation.

"I just want you to know," he says fondly, poking Douglas's side, "that I saw you snuggling with Daedalus before. Just in case you thought you were sneaky."

Douglas's shoulders shake a bit in mirth, but he remains silent.

"I know you think you're the big bad pilot, and you have a reputation to maintain, but your secret's out. Everyone knows you're just a big marshmallow underneath."

Silence, then the tiniest hint of a snuffle. Douglas is drifting off. Martin is patient, and it's rewarded when he hears the soft "not s'bad f'r cat. M'rtin kitten."

He grins. "That's a plane, and you know it. Now go to sleep. Daedalus misses his snuggle bunny."

Douglas harrumphs softly, then tries to burrow even further into Martin's stomach. Martin switches hands again, resting the now-warm one on the gap between Douglas’s hair and the back of his collar. Slowly, bit by bit, the tension in the other man's muscles eases and he slips back off to sleep. Martin rubs gently at the skin beneath his thumb and relaxes, feeling himself start to drift off as well.

He's awakened abruptly when a tiny ball of orange fur launches itself at them, wedging in the triangle of space between Douglas's chest, the sofa cushions and Martin's thigh, purring happily once he's comfortable. The added warmth eases the ache in Martin's chest, and the three of them pass the rest of the rainy morning that way--snugged closely together.

When he wakes up, it’s to an a tightness that runs from the back of his skull to his hips from sleeping in such an awkward position. Douglas is still asleep, face smushed into Martin's stomach and hands curled into unconscious fists. _A headache, still_ Martin deduces. He'd like to extract himself from under Douglas to get a hot compress, but he knows the other man will wake up, and this is the first time he’s slept longer than an hour at a time in days.

Then, an idea occurs to him. Daedalus is there, and has already proven happy to curl up beside the considerably warmer Douglas. Carefully, Martin extracts the cat from where he's sleeping and drops him gently on his lap so he’s snuggled beside Douglas’s head. The cat proves more eager than Martin had thought he would be, pushing his front paws under Douglas’s chin so he’s draped like a heating pad over his neck. It’s a sign of his exhaustion that Douglas doesn’t even stir, which Martin takes to mean he can attempt to free himself.

When he returns from refreshing himself, it’s to the sight of Douglas stretched out again on his back, Daedalus draped across his face like a feline blindfold. The lines around his eyes have faded a bit, and his fists aren’t in quite as tight a clench as before, which Martin chalks up as a win. That added to the clear tally in the “liking the cat after all” column means he’s a happy man. The only thing that makes him happier is that for weeks after, whenever Douglas takes a nap, Daedalus can be found without objection, tail wrapped around his nose, fitted perfectly between Douglas’s chin and his folded hands


	4. Chapter 4

It’s an accident. Whatever Douglas’s professed feelings about the cat that occupies space in his house, he never wished it _ill_ , and was, in fact, a rather nice guardian in general. Knowing that, however,doesn’t stop the immense guilt he feels as he and Martin sit in the waiting room of the animal hospital, discussing options as easily as if they were picking an alternate airfield for a flight to Berlin.

Douglas isn't paying attention when he signs for the package at the door, distracted by the thickness and official-looking seal of the envelope he's handed. As a result, he’s forgotten that Daedalus has a taste for freedom that nearly rivaled Martin’s own. Douglas props open the door with his foot to sign for the envelope, and Daedalus instantly runs out into the street. The screeching of tires and dull thump goes unheeded under the rushing in Douglas's ears. He dashes down the stairs, eyes fixed on the ginger lump lying on the kerb.

Before he reaches the pavement, Daedalus is pushing himself up on his paws, limping towards the house. Douglas meets him halfway, scooping him into his broad hands and cradling him gently. The driver of the car keeps up a constant stream of apology. "I'm so sorry! I didn't even see it! it just ran out into the street!" Douglas isn't sure what comes out of his mouth, but it evidently is terribly frightening, as the driver cowers and ducks away.

Douglas isn't concerned with the feelings of strangers, his eyes scanning Daedalus quickly for other injuries as he grabs his keys from the basket by the door and runs to the Lexus. The first thing he does after he arrives at the hospital and has handed over Daedalus with a rapid-fire explanation is ring Martin Unfortunately, Martin has a habit of turning his mobile off during deliveries, because he says it makes the customers upset to think they’re not his number one priority. Right now, Douglas is is positive that the customer _wouldn’t_ be Martin’s first priority, but Martin remains unreachable. Douglas leaves a hurried message and hunkers down to wait.

He spends two and a half hours in the waiting room alone before he sees Martin. In that time, he’s barely moved from his spot tucked away in the furthest corner, watching as other pet owners come and go. His instinct is to hide his pain from the world by finding the darkest, most secluded place he can, but in the garish fluorescent lights of the hospital, that’s nigh on impossible. He settles for resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, blocking the waiting room from his view. The quasi-darkness is helpful for the burgeoning headache, but not for the guilt-induced nausea roiling in his stomach.

Martin strides into the waiting room, spotting Douglas almost immediately, still curled up as small as his build and bulk will allow, which isn’t truthfully that small. Quietly, he sits next to the older man.

“Douglas? What happened? He’s not....dead, is he?”

Douglas realizes that the frantic message he’d left on martin’s answerphone might not have been a clear as he’d probably have hoped.

“He’s not dead, no. He was...” Douglas swallows hard. “Hit by a car.”

Martin’s mouth falls open. “A car?! How did he get hit by a car?!”

Douglas flushes in guilt. “I wasn’t paying enough attention, and he got out. Ran right for the road. The doctor’s looking at him now.”

“Oh.” Martin sits in a chair beside him and takes Douglas’s hand. He knows that any other comfort he tries to give will be fended off with sarcasm or guilt-fueled anger.

It’s not long before the veterinarian comes out, with news that it doesn’t look like Daedalus has broken anything, and that they’re free to take him home. He writes a prescription for pain medication and some antibiotics before they go, giving instructions to an intent Douglas while Martin goes to fetch their cat.

Douglas takes Daedalus back in the Lexus with him, arguing that the heated seat will be better for sore muscles than bouncing around in Martin’s van. Martin starts to argue, but then he sees the way Douglas’s hands curl protectively around Daedalus and withholds comment.

Martin spends the next five weeks watching Douglas treat their cat like he’s made of blown glass. He carries meals and treats to the cat bed in the sitting room, lifts Daedalus up on the bed and the sunniest window seat to save him having to jump or climb, and generally acts as if he’s afraid the slightest noise or movement will shatter him into a million tiny fragments.

For his part, Daedalus thrives under the attention and is truthfully well after only three weeks. But he’s learned that Douglas is a soft touch and uses it to his advantage, glaring at him when he tries to take a seat on the couch, occupying the entirety of Martin’s manual attention, and mewling pseudo-helplessly when he wants a treat. Douglas, Martin thinks, has a guilt-shaped blind spot when it comes to the feline manipulations. It’s as amusing as it is endearing.

The armistice ends when Douglas spends hours perfecting a new sushi combination only to return from setting the table to find three pieces missing and a very contented-looking cat.

“Out,” he roars at the cat, who merely looks at him as if amused. Douglas grabs Daedalus by the scruff of the neck and drops him in his cat bed, sticking a finger a millimeter from his nose. “Keep out of my sushi!”

Martin, observing from the sofa, raises his eyebrow at Douglas and then starts to laugh. “Consider him told.” Douglas scowls at him and stalks back to the table, setting out the serving dishes. When the meal is finished, Douglas grumbles a bit when Martin feeds the leftovers to Daedalus. Martin ignores him, scratching behind the cat’s ears as he rises. He walks over to Douglas and wraps his arms around him from behind, hooking his chin over Douglas’s shoulder. “You,” he says fondly, “are a fraud. A big, huge fraud. You think I didn’t see you sneak him another piece under the table just then?”

Douglas, amazingly, flushes, just at the tips of his ears, as he does when he feels he’s been caught out. Martin suspects the tell is the reason Douglas keeps his hair slightly on the longer side. He smiles and kisses the tip of Douglas’s left ear, an acknowledgment of Douglas’s silent embarrassment and leaves, curling up with Daedalus in his lap on the sofa and one of Douglas’s hardboiled detective DVDs playing, listening to the sounds of Douglas doing the washing up. Martin can tell what kind of mood Douglas is in by the song that he hums as he washes in the sink. Today’s selection is a slow, soft piece, which usually means Douglas is feeling subconsciously insecure and trying to comfort himself.

Martin smiles at him as Douglas sits in his customary spot on the other end of the sofa. Usually, Martin will sidle over to rest his head on Douglas’s shoulder, but tonight he clears Daedalus off his lap with a perfunctory nudge at his ribs and tugs at Douglas’s sleeve until he stretches the length of the sofa with his head in Martin’s lap. Martin spends the rest of the film sweeping his hands through Douglas’s hair, rubbing at the back of his neck and behind his ears. When Douglas reaches down off the sofa and scoops Daedalus off the floor where he’s curled by his feet, Martin says nothing, only gives a soft hum of amusement and resumes his soft stroking. Douglas sweeps his broad hands down Daedalus’s back and the atmosphere in the sitting room grows comfortably warm. Martin smiles to himself when he hears the counterpoint of Douglas’s deep snoring and Daedalus’s purring, resting his head back on the cushion and letting himself drift off into warm contentment.


	5. Chapter 5

Three and a half weeks before Christmas, Daedalus disappears. Martin and Douglas spend every night for an entire week looking for him before resigning themselves to rely on his attachment to their home to come back. Every night, Martin leaves a saucer of milk outside the front door, and every night Douglas mocks him for it. What he doesn’t say is that every night, after Martin’s gone to upstairs to bed, Douglas puts out a piece of sushi as well. And every night, Martin watches him from the upstairs window.

Douglas is careful to be the one to bring in the saucers from outside, lest Martin discover his overt sappiness. Martin, on the other hand, is careful to allow Douglas his illusion. They both are careful to hide how much they’ve come to depend on their cat as a comfortable companion in their everyday lives.

Christmas Eve comes, and with it the traditional exchange of gifts at Carolyn’s house, complete with fond snarking and loud, mostly-true, stories of their exploits over the year. Martin and Douglas return to their house late that night, Douglas guiding a loose-limbed and chatty Martin up the garden path, laughing as he attempts to explain his point that chicken cordon bleu does, in fact, look exactly like a hamster and grabbing his elbow to keep him upright when he trips over a potted plant.

As they reach the front door, Martin kicks the saucer he’d left out, and it goes spinning into the bushes. There’s a startled mewl from inside and then silence. Intrigued, Douglas props Martin against the door with firm instructions not to move and edges closer, using the light from his mobile to see into the darkness. Two pairs of demonic-looking eyes sparkle back at him, and Douglas smiles.

Reaching a hand out, he murmurs gently. “Hello there. Welcome back. Who’ve you brought back with you?”

“Douglas?” Martin asks. “Who are you talking to?”

“Shh, you’ll startle them.” Douglas reaches in and picks up Daedalus gently, depositing him in Martin’s arms. He then reaches under the bush, stroking the other cat’s ears and under its chin, trying to coax it out. Eventually, with much patience, the pair of eyes move forward until Douglas can see their owner--a heavily pregnant female with black fur tinged with gray.

Douglas laughs as he brings the mother into the kitchen. “Looks like our little boy has grown up.”

Martin smiles fondly, and moves to set out food for Daedalus and his guest. The two of them spend the next days in anticipation, waiting for the mother to deliver her brood. When they wake up on Boxing Day, neither of the cats are anywhere to be seen. A mild sense of panic descends upon the two until they locate them, huddled together in the airing cupboard atop the crisp linens, four tiny kittens huddled in sleep.

Douglas stands behind Martin, wrapping his arms around his waist, and kisses him on the back of the neck. "Congratulations, Grandpa Crieff. It’s a boy. And a girl. And another girl. And another boy." Martin smiles and turns in his arms, hugging him gently. “Looks like we’ve made a family after all,” he says. “Our very own Christmas miracle.” Douglas just grins. 

“You know,” Martin muses slowly, muffled into Douglas’s chest. “The new cat looks a little like someone. Someone familiar. Gray fur with a touch of black. Smug expression...” He shrieks suddenly as Douglas picks him up and throws him over his shoulder.

“I will have you know,” Douglas says as he drops Martin on their bed, “that it’s black with a hint of gray, and I’ll thank you not to forget it.” Martin smiles softly at him, and tangles his fingers in the hair at Douglas’s nape. 

“Best give me some way to remember, then.” He smiles up at his partner, equal parts pleased and content.

And so Douglas does.


End file.
